


a love like woe

by softsocky



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Band Fic, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, rocky is so clueless, this was inspired by that chocolate game they all did that one time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 21:05:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12873006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: Minhyuk had stolen his first kiss, and the boy didn’t even think anything of it.





	a love like woe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mainvocalrocky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mainvocalrocky/gifts).



> literally......[do u remember this song? ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oh6Oz-L156c) it was a total banger like wow hit in me in the jugular.  
> also, inspired by [this!](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/post/167993659414/the-best-parts-bye)

Sanha didn’t know how to tell him. He couldn’t find the words, the _confidence_ , to tell Minhyuk that _that_ had been his _first kiss_. And it wasn’t even a _real_ kiss. It was just lips brushing together as they tried to remove the chocolate from the wrapper. It was for the _fans_. No matter how much he tried denying it, Minhyuk had still taken his first kiss, and the boy didn’t even think anything of it.

It wasn’t that Sanha was _saving_ it for anyone in particular, but more that he was just hoping it to be a little more meaningful. He could picture worse people to share his first kiss with, really, and Minhyuk was far from awful. In fact, at the time, his lips had left a tingling sensation against his, that had lasted well into the night, stopping him from sleeping that night. _But Minhyuk wasn’t even phased._

He carried on unbothered, and slept soundly that night while Sanha lay awake and staring at the ceiling contemplating his existence. The next morning, he moped around, grumpy and uncomfortable in his own skin, and for some reason, couldn’t tear his eyes away from Minhyuk’s lips all day. Minhyuk commented once or twice on his out-of-character silence, but Sanha told him it was nothing. And it _was_ nothing. Sanha was overreacting. He was overthinking something that really didn’t matter. It was just a kiss, after all. It’s not like he’s waiting on anybody to come sweep him up into their arms and plant one on him. Hell, he hadn’t even really thought about kissing anyone until the fans came up with the game. Now, though. Now that he’d done it, and he’d experienced the sensation – even just a flirtation with the sensation of a kiss – he couldn’t get it out of his head.

The kiss thief sat opposite him now, mindlessly scrolling through his phone, releasing a rush of air at something he found particularly funny. Every now and then, he’d turn his phone to show Sanha a photo or video, and Sanha would force a laugh out of politeness, but he was sure Minhyuk could pick up on the fraud behind it. Sanha just couldn’t stop looking at his _lips_ , all pink and puffy and always seeming to be pouting, as though they were ready to be kissed 24/7.

Christ, Sanha didn’t even know _how_ kiss – but he knew he wanted to kiss Minhyuk. And that was a problem, because Minhyuk was one of his _best friends_ , and best friends don’t kiss each other. Especially not _this_ best friend, seemingly _straight_ Park Minhyuk, who most definitely could never look at Sanha’s lips the way he’s been looking at his since last night.

Minhyuk was staring at him strangely again, and Sanha knew he was going to ask if he was alright. To avoid the topic – knowing there was only so much self-restraint left in him – he pushed himself off the couch.

“I’m going for a walk,” he threw over his shoulder, not waiting for a response, before grabbing his coat of the coat-hook, and slipping out into the chilly afternoon.

Outside, with the brisk, winter wind and scurrying of bodies leaving work, Sanha could almost distract his senses enough to forget about the ghost-like pressure that still pressed against his lower lip. He could hear nothing but horns blaring, the trains beneath him, the Han river, the people. He didn’t know how long he walked for, but it was getting dark, and he hated knowing he had to return home soon because of his curfew. He could just not go home, sit by the river all night until Jin Jin found him and yelled at him. But he didn’t want his hyungs to worry.

Begrudgingly, he made his way back to the dormitory. He slipped inside later than he usually did, to find most of the lights off. He made his way quietly through the kitchen and into the lounge room, only to find Minhyuk himself sitting in the arm chair, lamp turned on by his side. He glanced up from the book he was reading when Sanha walked in, throwing a dizzyingly pretty smile his way.

“Long walk?” It was a comment, but it sounded like a question.

Sanha shrugged, shucking off his jacket. He wished he could act as calm and collected as Minhyuk was right now. He wished he wasn’t so affected by their _kiss,_ if he could even call it that. “I needed to clear my head.”

Minhyuk slipped his bookmark into the novel, and shut the hardback. He placed it on the coffee table. “Everything okay?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

That night, Sanha had hoped he’d have slept well, as he hadn’t slept the night before. But as he lay wide awake– listening to the sounds of MJ, Jin Jin and Minhyuk sleeping – he realised that he was in for another sleepless night. He wondered how they did it. How they got over things that kept them awake at night. He assumes times fixes all wounds, that’s what they all say, but that also sounds a lot like an uncreative lie, something formulated to shut people like him up during times of turmoil and stress. Maybe he isn’t grieving, at least, not in the ordinary sense, but he still feels _loss_ and pain and sadness just like every other human on this damn planet, and it’s not fair that they have these secrets to getting through it, and they won’t share it with him. Maybe his mourning is a little pathetic – he hasn’t lost anyone, _Christ_ , he’s so _lucky_. But there’s still a tingling on his lips as he stares at the ceiling again tonight, and he doesn’t know it yet, but when he crawls out of bed the next morning – sleepless and delirious – the tingling will still remain there.

 

And it will remain there for the next few days, too. It will be something he pushes to the back of his mind when he has things to do – performing on stage, having photographs taken, fan meets. But the moment he catches sight of Minhyuk, the feeling flares up on his lips, tugging on his mind, reminding him of the thing he’s never going to truly forget. He turns back to the fan in front of him, finishes signing her album, before glancing back to Minhyuk. He’s never going to forget the accidental press of their lips, but it seems Minhyuk already had.

 

The fifth night in a row that he had gone without any proper sleep – he’d had _some,_ hazy, dancing on the edge of unconsciousness, providing him with enough energy to do basic tasks during the day – he lay awake and wondered why it was bothering him _this much._ He questions whether it was the kiss itself, or the person _behind_ it, or whether it was because he didn’t get to choose who took his first kiss. At first, he’d thought it the latter, but as he thinks about it now, he realises that’s not it. Minhyuk was – _is_ – his best friend, and in the grand scheme of things, he was happy for him to be his first kiss. So that got rid of the second option, too, leaving just the first. _The kiss itself._ Was it the kiss that bothered him? But what _about_ the kiss? He’d already concluded that Minhyuk was an acceptable first kiss recipient – despite having not applied for the position, and just claimed it as his own – so what _was it_?

He sat up suddenly in bed, head just barely missing the ceiling fan. “ _Shit.”_

Jin Jin – the light sleeper he is – jerked awake in the bed below him. “Sanha? Are you okay?” His voice was thick with sleep, and Sanha heard him reach for the light switch.

“I’m alright hyung,” he scrambled, lips feeling numb now that he focuses on them. “Just a bad dream, I’m okay now.” Jin Jin hummed, but didn’t argue. Sanha heard him settle back in his bed, heard his breathing even out again.

 _Shit_ , Sanha thought again now. _Shit, shit, shit._

Sanha knew the problem. He knew it now, _he got it now._ Sanha liked Minhyuk. Like, _liked-liked._ He was _crushed,_ literally, that the boy he liked-liked not only took his first kiss, but also didn’t _care_ that he took it. He understood what had him so churned up; he knew why he couldn’t sleep, why his lips burned whenever he thought of the chocolate game, or whenever he saw Minhyuk.

Because Sanha had a big crush on Minhyuk, who’d taken his first kiss, but Minhyuk didn’t like him _back_.

 

From last night’s revelation, Sanha noticed himself change. He didn’t want to, but it felt like instinct. Normally, he and Minhyuk were close. Not as close as Eunwoo and Bin, but close enough that cuddling on the couch was considered normal, and – more often than not – Minhyuk would come up behind Sanha and wrap his arms around the youngers waist. This would happen most often in the mornings, when Sanha boiled the kettle, and got coffee ready.

His normal reaction would be to lean back sleepily, because Minhyuk always ran hot, and the warmth would curl up Sanha’s back lazily and he’d feel like he was lying in bed again. This morning, though, when Minhyuk’s arms slipped around his front, he squealed, and jumped out of his grasp. Minhyuk jumped back, too, stunned by Sanha’s outburst. Minhyuk must have thought Sanha got a fright, maybe he hadn’t been expecting it, but Sanha had been – and that was the problem. The problem was that now Sanha knew what the tingling in his lips meant, what the fluttery sensation was in his stomach (butterflies birthed from nerves), and that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Sanha spluttered, shoved the empty mug onto the bench, and ran to the bathroom – kettle and coffee completely forgotten about.

 

Another thing he noticed that had changed, was in dance practice. Sanha was pretty good at keeping in time, remembering what move came next, but today he had no momentum, no fluidity. The boys were noticing. They had to keep stopping and restarting steps, because Sanha just couldn’t keep up. They weren’t angry – they all had their off days, this just happened to be his first one in a long time – but they were getting curious as to what was running through his head. They had obviously noticed his lack of sleep, the bags under his eyes beginning to grow darker and darker each day, but they had assumed it was just the accumulation of stress from their comeback.

Sanha just couldn’t concentrate today, because _Park_ bloody _Minhyuk_ was dancing without a shirt on. He was sweaty and glorious, and his hair was pushed back with a headband, and Sanha wanted to _kiss him_ so badly it was beginning to ache tensing his muscles in retaliation. Minhyuk looked at him now, pausing the music. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You alright, Sanha?” It was Minhyuk who had asked, panting slightly. Sanha watched a bead of sweat draw a line from his hairline down past his eye, down to his _lips._ Sanha looked away, growing familiar to the buzz on his lips now, the ghost-like pressure that reawakened at every glance Minhyuk threw his way.

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I’m okay. Let’s go again.”

 

Things were beginning to get ridiculous. He still wasn’t sleeping, and it was getting to the point now where he wouldn’t even climb into his bed. He’d just stay lounging on the couch, hoping for maybe just a moment’s rest. When he did sleep – the half awake, half asleep state he often found himself in – were plagued by dreams of the kiss. He kept calling it that, but it wasn’t, but it _felt_ like one. His brain – and maybe even his _heart_ – treated it like a kiss. He dreams of the feeling of Minhyuk’s hand on the back of his head, dragging his mouth down to him; of Minhyuk on his tip-toes so he could _reach,_ the way he had closed his eyes, as though he were going in for a _real_ kiss.

Sanha liked him. He liked-liked him so much that his heart felt both empty and full at the same time like he’d lost something, but gained something much worse back. He liked Minhyuk with his soft hair and soft hands, and even softer smile; with his stupid puns and savage attitude; Minhyuk, with his selflessness and his confidence; with his stupidly big, glowing _smile_ that drew Sanha in over and over again, drawing attention to those _lips_ , the ones that had danced with idea of kissing him that night.

And so, for the first time, Sanha let himself cry about a boy he liked. He let himself cry until there were no tears left, until he sagged with exhaustion against the couch cushions, until he felt nothing no more.

 

When he resurfaced, it was because of the feeling of weightlessness. His stomach was left on the ground for a second, and through closed eyelids, he let out a yelp. Someone chuckled, deep and scratchy in their chest, where Sanha’s head was conveniently placed. It rumbled through his body, sending a tingle down his spine. Sanha opened each eye one-by-one, only to find his face pressed against Minhyuk’s chest. He was being carried bridal-style from the couch and into the bedroom, and Sanha began squirming in his hold.

“Yah!” Minhyuk said, tutting him. “We’re almost there, stop kicking.”

“I’m _heavy_ ,” Sanha protested, thrashing, until suddenly he felt like he was free-falling, before his back hit the mattress.

Minhyuk snorted. “Sanha, you’ve never been heavy, don’t be stupid.”

Sanha yawned, rolling onto his side. He inhaled the scent on the pillow – a mix of after shave and coconut shampoo, and something deeper, something less _obvious_ , something a little bit like—

“Why am I on your bed?”

Minhyuk shrugged. “I didn’t know how to carry you up the ladder. Sleep, Sanha, you need it.”

Sanha obeyed, just this once, and indulged himself in the smell of Minhyuk around him. It was like a shroud of an exotic aroma, and he didn’t care if Minhyuk thought he was weird for smiling into the pillow, breathing heavier than normal, trying to learn the scent and get it into his bloodstream so he’d never forget it. He didn’t know if Minhyuk stayed in the room or not, he was too deep in thought and the dregs of sleep to hear if he’d slipped out or not. Either way, his mind was playing tricks on him, telling him to speak out of turn, because next thing he knew, he was mumbling, over and over.

“ _I hate you Minhyuk. I hate you Minhyuk. I hate you Minhyuk.”_

 

He shuffled out – blanket wrapped around him from Minhyuk’s bed – and into the lounge room. Once there, he stopped, blanket falling around his ankles. He shivered at the intrusion of cold air, but it could have also been from nerves. All five bandmates were sitting on the couch, facing him, _waiting_ for him to emerge. Paranoia and panic sat low and heavy in his stomach, like a parasite ready to make him _throw up._

“Uh, good morning,” he mumbled out nervously, itching for a cup of coffee, or a punch in the head – anything to knock some sense into him about what was going on. Minhyuk was shirtless again – he always slept shirtless, this shouldn’t be a _surprise_ to Sanha again – and his lips were tingling, but this, too, shouldn’t surprise him. These were common occurrences that had slowly become part of his daily routine.

It was Eunwoo who spoke. “We have called for a dorm meeting.”

Then Bin. “A dorm meeting involving you and Minhyuk alone.”

“Wait, what—” That was Minhyuk’s voice, which Sanha could pinpoint anywhere, even over the scrambling of four males trying to get out of the room faster than each other. They slammed the door to the lounge room shut behind them, the sound ricocheting through the room.

Sanha didn’t dare lift his eyes from the floor to where Minhyuk now stood by the couch, because he was so sure he’d lose his self-control, and he’d be over there in a split second, pressing his inexperienced lips to Minhyuk’s undoubtedly more experienced ones. And that would not do, so he kept them trained on a fleck of stray paint on the floorboards.

“Sanha,” it was Minhyuk’s voice again. Of course, it was. They were the only two in the room. “Sanha. Please, look at me.” Sanha whined, shook his head, heart aching at the sigh that Minhyuk released. “Fine, okay. But can you please just…” he trailed off, and for a moment Sanha thought he was going to leave, but then he heard a _sniff_ , and oh _no_ , he was crying. Sanha fought against every muscle and instinct in his body.

When he spoke again, his voice was thick and heady, ridden with tears. “I just need you to tell me what I did wrong. You’re my best friend, and I can _feel_ you slipping away from me.” Sanha went to open his mouth, “don’t _lie_ _to me_ , Yoon Sanha.”

Sanha could taste the bile rising in his throat, could feel the nerves in every pore of his body, oozing out and spreading all around him. He swallowed the acidic flavour, ignored the feeling in his lips, and lifted his eyes. Sanha could handle shirtless Minhyuk, he could handle the wide smile of his lips, but what he couldn’t handle was the look of anguish in his eyes as he stared at his best friend. It was that look that made Sanha realise that this couldn’t continue. The _kiss_ had been a week ago; he was sleep-deprived and angry, constantly hungry, and dehydrated. He hadn’t been taking care of himself, because the cocoons in his stomach had burst open, and the butterflies there were _swarming, swarming, swarming,_ so much so that sometimes he found it impossible to _breathe_ around their fluttery wings.

He swallowed. “Minhyuk, you know that show we did. The one for the fans?” Minhyuk nodded. “We did that chocolate candy game, remember?” Sanha looked down at his hands, suddenly finding them very interesting. “We, er, we kissed?”

He heard Minhyuk sigh. “ _That’s_ what this is all about. The fact that we _kissed_?” Minhyuk’s voice sounded as tired as he felt, but also relieved. But Sanha felt _mad._

“ _Fuck you, Minhyuk!”_  He pulled open the door to the lounge room, Bin and Eunwoo falling through. MJ and Jin Jin were behind them, smiling sheepishly. “ _And fuck you four, too!”_

Sanha didn’t mean it. He rarely ever swore this badly, and when he did, he felt sick to his stomach afterwards and would always apologise profusely. Right now, though, Sanha was a ball of rage. His patience had run out, and maybe it was the exhaustion talking, but his crush had passed their kiss of as nothing, and the boys had set it all up to begin with.

He went to push past them, but Jin Jin grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Yoon Sanha! What is going _on?_ ” He said nothing, but Sanha could feel himself shaking, on the verge of tears.

“Sanha?” It was MJ now, voice softer than Jin Jin’s had been. “What’s wrong, Sanha?”

Sanha _broke._  

He sobbed – heartbroken and angry and _exhausted._ He pointed to Minhyuk, “he _kissed_ me and he’s acting like it was nothing”

The four older boys looked over to Minhyuk, who flushed red. “It was a _game!_ ”

“ _It_ _was my first kiss!”_ He didn’t mean to yell it as loudly as he had, but it was out there now. His chest was heaving, his cheeks wet from tears. “It was my first kiss, and you _stole_ it from me. I wanted it to be you so _badly,_ and then you took it, _and you didn’t even care.”_ He wished he sounded angrier, more firm with his words, but he just sounded weak and sad and sort of pathetic.

Minhyuk stared at him from across the room. “You think I don’t _care?_ ”

Sanha gestured to the scene around him. “I don’t think. I _know._ If you _cared,_ you would have said so by now!”

Minhyuk’s arms splayed out in front of him. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Sanha groaned, “because I didn’t even realise I _loved_ you until you kissed me!”

And there it was. The big L word he’d been hoping to avoid. It had been sitting there, on the tip of his tongue for a week now, but he’d hesitated to use it for this very reason. His hyungs shifted awkwardly on their feet, before excusing themselves. Minhyuk took an unsteady step towards him. Sanha took one step back, and then another, until his back was flush against the door. Minhyuk kept coming though, until he was stopped right in front of him, noses almost touching. Sanha couldn’t _breathe_ , the wings stuck in his throat.

“Sanha,” he breathed against his lips, only adding to the sensation that buzzed there. Sanha had almost forgotten all about it with the commotion going on, but now that the room had quietened, the stinging had flared up again. “Sanha, it was my first kiss, too.”

Sanha’s head tilted back a little on the door, looking down at the boy in front of him. This close up, their height difference was much more noticeable, and Sanha would have found it cute had the circumstances been different. Right now, though, he just thought about how easy it would be to bend down and steal a kiss of his own.

So, he did.

He _did_. He leant down and forwards, stole a quick kiss from Minhyuk. It was just a chaste press of lips together, nothing more, but so much _more_ than that first kiss had been, the accidental one. His lips were on fire when he pulled away, his lips craving more of the supple touch. Minhyuk’s eyes fluttered open, and he placed his hands on Sanha’s shoulders, brushing out the wrinkles of his shirt.

When he spoke, he sounded a little winded. “I love you, Yoon Sanha.” Sanha’s chest tightened, lips burning, stomach fluttering. “But that kiss, on that stage. That was not our first kiss. That one right then wasn’t either.”

Minhyuk pressed one of his hands beside Sanha’s head, against the door, and then the other. He had closed Sanha in, with no room to escape, not that he’d want to leave anyway. Sanha’s own hands found their way to Minhyuk’s bare waist, and they found solace there, rubbing his thumbs along the taut muscles.

“So, what will be then?”

Minhyuk grinned wickedly, “this one.”

 

The kiss had been wet and inexperienced and incredibly messy. It was most likely, loud, too, because Sanha remembers hearing himself squeal and bang once or twice against the wooden door; and if he remembers clearly, when Sanha had tugged him closer, he had let out a rather loud groan. He was so sure the other boys could hear them, were pressed against the door, eavesdropping like they’d done earlier, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

Because the boy he liked-liked, or rather, _loved,_ had him pressed against a door as he was _kissing_ him, and he got to trace the lines of abdominal muscles, like he’d imagined in his dreams, and he _got to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him,_ then, and right now, and every day, and then forever.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> as always, unedited.   
> ALSO  
> I CHANGED MY URL  
> ur girl succumbed to her love for astro and made the final jump. you can find me over at [softsocky!](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/) talk to me about how park minhyuk and socky and binu idc anything ok i love them


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